MR. CASSIDY IS IN DOUBT.
Lord Clare's previsions were justified in the first instance. The new
Viceroy was obliged to refrain from positive interference for a time,
in order that he might study the chaos and consider his future course.
News of the affair of Vinegar Hill reached him on the second day after
his arrival, and he thanked Heaven in that he was spared any
participation in the maltreatment of the south. But the first week in
August brought unexpected news, which compelled his excellency to look
about him with promptitude. The French--bugaboo that had given his
predecessor sleepless nights, only to prove afterwards the most vulgar
of post-c[oe]nal nightmares--were actually present in the flesh at
last. An army had landed on the north-western coast; so the news ran
which had flitted round the seaboard in a circle of flame. A veritable
army had landed at Killala under false colours, flying a mendacious
Union Jack: veterans to the number of twelve hundred, who had fought
in Italy under Napoleon.
These at least were worthy foes whose presence set his martial blood
tingling. The hero of Vinegar Hill was despatched with all speed to
the northwest, while the Viceroy assembled his forces to follow him.
Three frigates only, bearing twelve hundred veterans! A handful. Was
this the _avant-garde_ of the invading army? Where was the rest of the
fleet? Scattered as usual by wind, or delayed by some accidental
circumstance? General Lake sent intelligence to his chief that this
handful really composed the entire force, which was commanded by one
Humbert, who had come on a fool's errand, without money or provisions,
trusting to Tone's assurance that the countryfolk would rally round
him so soon as he unfurled the tricolour. 'He would make short work of
the adventurers,' he wrote, 'with the help of the "Ancient Britons"
and the "Foxhunters." It would hardly be necessary for his excellency
to appear in person, for the brush would be over before he could
arrive.'
The French met the royalists at Castlebar, where the latter were
disgracefully defeated. Humbert, delighted by his easy victory,
occupied the town during eight days, astonishing the people by a
courtesy to which they were little accustomed. So long as he commanded
there no house-burnings were heard of; no ravishing of maidens, or
pillaging of household goods. The peasantry poured into his camp, but
they were worse than of no service to him--a half-savage horde of idle
lookers-on, who howled and danced and quarrelled. The respectable
portion of the community held aloof, for Protestants could have no
sympathy with a French invader, while the higher class of Catholics
looked askance at Free-thinkers who had once been in the bosom of
their Church. Moreover, the horrors of Wexford were yet ringing in
their ears--horrors concerning which there could be no doubt, for the
Foxhunters, smeared with fraternal gore, were in their midst, who were
by no means inclined to put their firebrand under a bushel. Nor was it
long ere they gave a taste of their quality. They bade the fisherfolk
upon the coasts to declare for one side or the other at once, and
terrified the harmless people so that many tried to seek refuge in the
caverns which, as at Ennishowen, burrow under the western cliffs. Many
scores were drowned in the attempt, their bodies washed up upon the
rocks. It was not possible (no reinforcements arriving from France)
that Humbert could maintain his position at Castlebar. Perceiving his
peril, he made an effort to move northward, under the impression that
if he could succeed in avoiding a decisive action, Tone would soon
come with succour.
The forces of General Lake dogged his steps, amusing themselves with
the native hordes who hung upon their skirts; and if ever blood atoned
for treason, then were those western counties washed white as wool.
Sword and halter were used with unsparing hand. An order went forth
that any man in a frieze coat might be sabred, without questions
asked. A certain noble colonel's humour was so broad that for a
second time he was publicly rebuked; on this occasion by Colonel
Campbell--whose nephew became afterwards Lord Clyde.
Humbert and his men surrendered very shortly, and, cursing the people
they had come to save, were marched to Dublin as prisoners of war. So
ended the third French folly.
Now hie we to Donegal with Cassidy, who, after the arrival of the new
Viceroy, saw more distinctly than ever how advisable would be a short
absence. Whilst artfully pretending that he could not keep a secret,
or conceal an emotion, or resist temptation, Mr. Cassidy was, as you
possibly have by this time discovered, a far-sighted, cold-hearted
schemer. A hypocrite is not necessarily one who conceals vice behind a
semblance of virtue. He belonged to a branch of the same stem who
makes a vice which he has no objection to show a stalking-horse to
cover a darker and more profitable vice which it is essential he
should hide. It was clear to him, after a very few hours' experience
of the new-comer, that my Lords Clare and Cornwallis did not agree.
There would be a tussle for power, during which the smaller fry would
be wise to remain quiescent. Lord Cornwallis, whose hands were full in
other ways, showed no signs of desiring to interfere in the matter of
the patriots; could not, indeed, do so without a dangerous stretch of
prerogative, for they were in the grip of the law, or rather of the
antic creature who for the nonce assumed the name; but he made no
secret of his contempt of the Lords and Commons, and his unspeakable
abhorrence of the behaviour of the yeomanry. More than this he dared
not do as yet, for it was evidently not his policy to quarrel with
the ascendency party; so he shut his eyes to the gymnastics in the
Riding-school, and popped his august head under the bedclothes with a
groan, when the screams of the victims in the Exchange hard by
penetrated to his chamber in the Castle. His path was thick with
flints. He complained bitterly of his position in letters to an old
brother-in-arms. 'The characteristics of society here,' he wrote, 'are
cruelty, intemperance, and profligacy. There is no trick too mean or
too impudent for an Irish politician; no deed too wicked for an Irish
soldier. These last are ferocious in the extreme, when poor creatures
armed or unarmed come into their power. Murder is their favourite
pastime. The conversation of all the principal persons in the country
tends to encourage this system of blood, and the talk even at my own
table, where you will suppose I do all I can to prevent it, turns on
hanging, shooting, burning, etc.; and if a priest has been put to
death, the greatest joy is expressed by the whole company. So much for
Ireland and my wretched situation.'[1]
----------------------------
Footnote 1: Marquis Cornwallis to Major-Gen. Ross, Correspondence,
vol. ii. 369 _et seq_.
----------------------------
In their exuberant loyalty the Lords and Commons made a solemn
procession to do homage before a statue of that noble character,
George I., which was set up in Dawson Street. Their chancellor
strutted in front, followed by Mr. Speaker and Prime Sergeant. But His
Excellency declined to take part in the edifying pageant--even
muttered something uncomplimentary about a pack of donkeys. Lord
Clare, in his anger at the soldier's want of polish, was unwise enough
to threaten that he would lodge complaints on the subject. Decidedly
it was prudent for those whose nests required feathering to retire
into the background until the difficulty was adjusted.
Cassidy rode northward, scanning as he went the numerous signs of
recent outrage. In the towns he was stopped and eagerly questioned,
for coaches and mail-bags were erratic. Rumour was garrulous, and
frequently contradicted herself. He, too, was interested in
obtaining information, for the citizens of Dublin know nothing of the
northern rising, except that it had been quickly put down with very
little trouble. He learnt that in the north, as in the south, the
collapse had come chiefly from lack of leaders; for preachers
could not be suddenly transmuted into generals, or traders into
commanders-in-chief. There had been a half-heartedness about the whole
business, arising from mutual distrust. The atrocities of Wexford
shocked the Northern Presbyterians, who were only told of the excesses
of the Catholics. Derry, too, was jealous of Down, Antrim of both. On
the other hand, the Hessian mercenaries irritated all classes--it was
the armed occupation of a conquered territory by a swinish conqueror.
The flame was skilfully fanned. Amnesty for political offences was
vaguely spoken of, which soon merged into sanguinary denunciation, and
concluded in the devotion of whole towns to fire and sword. The people
knew not how to act. If Wexford was subdued, the lash would surely
fall on their backs to punish them for their known detestation of the
Sassanagh. It would be better, then, to rise, some argued, so as at
least to gain something in exchange for inevitable punishment. And so,
undisciplined and ill-led, Antrim rose and was crushed; then Down took
the field, to suffer a like fate. It was the old, sad story over again
of Wexford, without Father Roche or the priest of Boulavogue. The
insurrection was evanescent; accompanied by much intermittent bravery
on the part of the peasants, much imbecility on the part of the
leaders, awful retribution on the part of the Hessians and squireens.
Cassidy found everywhere the feeling which Lord Clare had worked for,
and was overwhelmed with admiration at the cleverness of the
chancellor. Every one was mourning for a brother or a son. A gloom of
failure hung like a pall over the peasantry. The tradesmen of the
towns had lost all self-confidence, and were bowed in humiliation.
Their lives were so miserable that they cared no more what happened;
the iron heel had crushed them both in body and soul. The few whose
spirit yet flickered formed themselves into banditti, who for years
continued to infest the mountains and wild tracts. How difficult are
such memories to eradicate; how tenacious and how spreading are their
roots! What a long array of sedatives may be required to blot out the
remembrance of a crime of such portentous magnitude as this which we
are contemplating!
Meanwhile the dreamland of Ennishowen knew nothing of these things.
The fairy islet of Glas-aitch-e seemed defended from outer evil by a
spell, which gave the sleeping knights in the sea-caves no cause for
waking. The seals rolled over on the blue-green waves as though the
world were not full of sorrow; the eagles soared high up in ether,
dazzled by the glory of the sun. As month followed month my lady saw
that her pet project was brought no nearer to realisation than in the
old days of Strogue; that it was further off, indeed; for Shane had
grown as coldly indifferent to his cousin as she was to him. He made
no love to her, did not seem to see her; the intercourse of those whom
my lady longed to see acting as lovers was as calm as that between a
brother and a sister. It was exasperating.
My lady hugged her religion, which taught her that those who follow
the national faith were capable of any crime. She gloated over the
narrative of the horrors on Wexford Bridge; thanked God that she was
not so bad as other people; affected a certain journal recently
printed by a missionary who had preached Christ's doctrine--or what he
took to be such--to the benighted heathen, in which was written: 'Had
much sweet enjoyment to-day in reading a sermon on the justice of God
in the damnation of sinners.' Her letters brought her news which by
degrees changed, so it seemed, the whole tenor of her way of thinking.
At least Doreen thought so as she surveyed her aunt, who appeared now
to act in spasms of contradictory impulse. At one moment the world was
apparently to her so black that there was nothing for it but to sit
down without hope to await the welcome end. At another moment she
became feverishly-restless and energetic, chafing evidently under some
hidden goad which was too bitter to be endured with outward calm.
Doreen watched her with increasing interest; for Time, which was
changing my lady, had changed her too, by removing the apathetic
dreaminess that had, upon arriving in the north, lulled the torn
fibres of her disillusioned nature with the anodyne which follows
disappointment. As events unfolded themselves, the two ladies changed
places. My lady, so imperious and impatient of contradiction, became
apathetic, but with an uncanny resignation which increased her age all
at once by at least ten years. The proud foot, instead of disdaining
the earth as it used to do, lost its elasticity and dragged upon the
ground. The incipient look of terror for which her eyes had always
been remarkable, developed into the amaze of one who has seen a ghost
face to face, while the skin round them was dry and burning, and
darkened to a purplish brown. For hours and hours would she sit, like
one inanimate, staring at that ghost which she only could behold,
turning with a nervous start if a door or window were opened suddenly.
Sometimes--but that was seldom--her surcharged heart found relief in
tears; not soothing dew, but water which burned new furrows down her
wasted cheek. It was evident that there was some awful weight upon her
mind, which was growing heavier--was squeezing her life-blood out by
drops.
Doreen set herself to wonder what this could mean. It looked like the
effort of an anguished soul to fly from memory and hoodwink remorse.
Yet why should the punctiliously upright dowager be possessed by so
dire a visitation? The old lady (really old now, though her years were
but fifty-three) kept muttering to herself when she thought she was
alone; then looked fiercely up, with glaring eyes like coals, from a
suspicion that she might have betrayed something. Once her niece
caught her in an excess of what seemed like madness--babbling some
frantic words out loud through a thick silken kerchief which she held
against her mouth. It was clear that there was some secret which was
bursting to come out--that was devouring her piecemeal--and that she
adopted this strange way of giving vent to it. Her sufferings must
indeed be terrible, Miss Wolfe thought, if that marble pride was
powerless to conceal them. No human frame may bear for long such
wrenching. Either the stern countess must go raving mad, or else she
would certainly soon die.
One night when (sleepless herself) Doreen rose to listen at her aunt's
door, she caught, amid inarticulate babble, the oft-repeated words,
'Terence--Shane!' muttered in such tones of anguish, that, shivering,
she crept back to bed, warned as by chilling vapour from the threshold
of a secret which 'twere better not to know. Terence--Shane! Her two
sons, then, were at the bottom of the mystery--the two sons who in
their mother's mind stood on such different platforms. Doreen watched
on, but still found no clue to the labyrinth. The countess seemed
sometimes, she observed, to be much occupied with her project--that
wild notion, unpractical in the beginning, which events had made even
more incongruous--of uniting these cousins who had so little in common
at the first, and who had now between them the gulf of the late
rebellion. Then she would seem by a mental reaction to recoil from the
idea, and do her best to prevent the two from meeting who, as it was,
so seldom met. Perhaps the lady really had a brain affection, Miss
Wolfe's mind suggested to her at times. Perhaps she, Doreen, was
trying to solve a riddle to which there was no solution. All whom it
concerned knew only too well that my lady disliked her second son. It
was preposterous to suppose that his joining the popular party should
affect his mother in this manner. It was natural that her pride should
be hurt, because he flouted her known opinions and embraced the tenets
of those whom she chose to consider as unworthy of consideration. But
that she should be absolutely sinking under the agony of the disgrace
was altogether out of the question. When the news came that, after
eluding pursuit for a long while, he had been taken, seriously
wounded, and incarcerated in the provost, she showed no emotion; while
her niece, who professed to hate him, was dreadfully distressed in
spite of herself. The struggle which had been tearing the old lady
appeared to have worn itself out. She appeared to have resigned
herself at last to accept the inevitable, to be too fatigued with the
fight for her intellect to be capable of a new impression. The ghost
had been looked in the face--the ghost which, ever since the late lord
died, had been hovering more or less near to her. She had felt his
scathing breath upon her cheek; she was under the gaze of a basilisk,
whose scorching fascination reduced her will to coma. Should the news
come that her son was publicly hanged like a felon, with all outward
tokens of ignominy, it could stir her now to no visible emotion. The
coldness which in her letters surprised Lord Clare was not one of
indifference, but of a despair which had ended in collapse. She
disliked her son, yet it was his fate that was corroding her life
away. Why was that? If Shane, the well-beloved, had been in similar
plight, the wreck, so far as she was concerned, could not have been
greater--nay, nor so great. Then her agony would have found vent in
indignation; she would have done something wherein might be detected,
through a veil, the old imperious ways of the chatelaine of Strogue.
But this utter breakdown--this abject wreck--and all about one for
whom she could not pretend to care! Here was an enigma which puzzled
Miss Wolfe more and more, serving to abstract her somewhat from her
own private woes.
The same motive, singularly enough, had wrought the change in both the
ladies--Terence, the hapless councillor, who lay now under shadow of
the gallows. At the time of the discovery of the pikes, when his
mother's careless words had suggested to the high-spirited damsel that
her cousin had sold the cause for gold, she had had a glimmering
suspicion that her heart was no longer fancy free--that it had gone
forth without the asking to one whom it was now her duty to contemn.
At least there was a vague whisper (thrust aside at once) within her
of the fact, which had caused her to comport herself in a way which at
a calmer moment her judgment would have rejected. Then, many causes
coalescing into one, she had devoted herself to birds and boating,
under a delusion which she strove hard to accept as truth, that
because they were beyond her helping she cared no more for her
ill-used people, or for the champions who in their weak way would have
defended them. It has been shown that she sank into a condition of
apathy--of mental numbness--which had about it a sort of negative
enjoyment. Then came news of events in the south--garbled offensive
news sent up from Letterkenny barracks--news which filled Shane's
animal soul with glee, and caused him, abandoning the ladies, to rush
off on his own account to emulate the antics of his class. This
intelligence struck on the maiden's heart like so many reiterated
blows, and, breaking the charm, produced a queer kind of hope. Was it
possible after all that Terence could have behaved so shamefully? If
not, then how was the matter of the pikes to be explained? Possibly
this was another mesh in the net which Judas had been weaving--the
many-headed Judas--to catch the tripping feet of all the patriots. The
maiden had been too hot to ask for an explanation. Had she wronged her
cousin, or not? A strange bubbling of joy welled up within her at the
thought that a doubt was possible; but this she repressed with guilty
vehemence. It was no time for joy or hope. Then the news dribbled in
of Wexford and Scullabogue--the awful crimes committed by the
Catholics, without so much as a whisper of the Protestant outrages at
Carlow and the Gibbet-Rath; and she longed with a wild longing to go
south once more. Was it possible that these reports were true? At the
worst, they must be much exaggerated. But men are only human. Drive
them too hard, and they inevitably turn to beasts. It is only the
purest metal which comes improved out of the crucible; and how rare
that metal! If the reports were true, how the men of Wexford must have
suffered! It was with a whimsical feeling of distress that she marked
her aunt's growing indifference with reference to these reports. Time
was when my lady would have chewed the cud of Scullabogue, extracting
therefrom a savoury text on which to found a discourse upon the sins
of the scarlet woman, pointing innuendoes at her niece such as might
quiver in her Papist soul. Doreen would rather have endured this
pillory than see the old lady so undone. Nor Scullabogue, nor Carlow,
nor the iniquitous Fathers Roche or Murphy, Kearnes or Clinch, could
rouse her from her lethargy any more, or distract her attention from
the contemplation of her ghost.
Doreen determined to write to her father about the countess, whose
state really grew quite alarming: there was no use in talking to Shane
about it; he was quite too besotted. Granted that she cared little for
her second son, it was astonishing (for she was not hard-hearted) that
my lady should evince no desire to nurse her boy, who was lying
wounded in a prison cell. Lord Clare was no doubt doing all that was
kind; yet a mother's hand on a sick pillow is likely to be even more
soothing to an invalid than a lord chancellor's. But as her soul
became more shrivelled she pointedly avoided even the mention of
Terence's name, and showed general signs of a peevish querulousness,
which was alien to her strong character. It did not seem to strike my
lady that it was time to pack up and return to Strogue; maybe she knew
that her ghost would pursue her thither, and felt callous as to where
she abode or what she did, provided that there was no escape from the
petrifying phantom.
Doreen had another reason for imploring her father to use his
influence as to the return of the family to Dublin. The intelligence
of the state-trials moved the damsel much. Her people, it was evident,
were to bow under their burden in obedience to Heaven's decree. In
their travail she might be of use to the patriots--still more to their
distressed wives and families. She wrote, therefore, pointing out that
no one could dream of conspiring now, and that, so far as she was
concerned, it was idle to detain her a prisoner.
One day my lord returned from his accustomed cruise down Lough Swilly
in huge delight. The circle of flame, which had swept past this
portion of the coast as well as others, had informed the dwellers in
Ennishowen that peril threatened somewhere. Then had come suspense and
vague rumours of the French nightmare, which people put from them at
once as idle chatterings of a danger that was over. My lord had sailed
from tower to tower--those stalwart towers whose creation he had
himself superintended--but no keeper could tell him more than that he
had lit his bonfire upon seeing one blazing to westward, and that his
own warning had been answered by a similar blaze to eastward. The
soldier-sprigs of Letterkenny even could say nothing positive. It was
reported that the French had come at last, they said; but at this
eleventh hour the notion was absurd. Doreen's heart had leaped within
her. The French! Was Theobald with them? She condescended to coax and
wheedle Shane, and put forth all her blandishments to obtain more
positive information. Suspense was racking her. She even offered to go
with him on his yacht, and be civil to those horrible bumpkins in
uniform, if he would sail forthwith to Letterkenny and discover
something tangible. He went alone; but wrung from her a promise that
if he organised an aquatic _fete_ shortly, to which he proposed to
invite the aforesaid bumpkins, she would cast aside her reserve, and
make herself agreeable to them.
'You know, Doreen,' he said, 'that my lady's breaking up. She looks
like a ghoul. By the Hokey, she'd frighten 'em all away! and it's
devilish dull here for a young man like me. For political reasons I've
borne the penance all this weary time. But may I be well triangled if
I put up with it much longer.'
Though the speech was rude, as conveying a hint to his cousin that her
constant presence by no means made up to him for the vanished orgies
of Cherokees and Blasters, yet did she smile her sweetest smile on
him. It proved that she need never dread being tormented with his
attentions; and so she promised, and he went. He was several days
absent; then returned, as I have said, in huge delight. The festival
was organised. The squireens were much _obleeged_, and would make
a point of responding to his lordship's _feevour_. It was to take
place in ten days. Doreen must see to details. They would dine
in the low-arched hall, and take their claret in the garden. What
pleasanter than to enjoy the delicious autumn air, laden as it was
with health-inspiring brine?
Doreen commanded herself sufficiently to listen to his prattle. What
was my lord's _fete_ to her--the odious boozing boors! She was pining
for political news--was about, losing all patience, to interrupt her
cousin--when, to her surprise and delight, he stopped of his own
accord with a string of oaths, vowing that in this accursed
hole he was forgetting his manners. He had picked up a guest at
Letterkenny--one whom she used to like. He jerked his thumb over his
shoulder towards the yacht. She looked, and beheld--Cassidy--the old
friend and true, who was as hearty and as jolly as ever, with his
roguish twinkle and double-chin, smiling and waving salutations to
her! Cassidy, who had promised once to be a friend--on that day after
his silly declaration by the kennels! Cassidy, escaped by some kindly
turn of fate from the ills which had fallen on the rest! He would know
everything, could tell her private details of persons whose names she
dared scarce mention to herself.
This was a delightful surprise. Dropping her ordinary coldness, she
advanced quickly to him with flushed cheek and both hands extended. He
read in her face that she was genuinely glad to see him, and thanked
his stars that he had bethought himself of trying once again. She had
been coy--needed persistent wooing--was, like all women, a born
coquette. He held both her trembling little brown hands in his, and
would have kissed her if grinning Shane had not been looking on. She
liked him. There could be no doubt of it. The sweet lovely minx--brown
as a berry--all the lovelier and the browner for long exposure to the
sun and blustering blast and wholesome air. She had betrayed herself,
the demure siren! The Castle and its people might go to the devil now.
He need not trouble to feather his nest. She evidently loved him
enough to take him as he was, and had gold enough for both. He
mentally resolved to choose the first opportunity to put the tender
question in due form. Pretty, stately creature! What a charm there was
in the toss of her shapely head, the tawny depths of her solemn eyes!
Her first question somewhat disconcerted the amorous giant.
'How is Terence?' she asked, recovering her usual calm.
He glanced suspiciously down, but there was no tremulousness about the
serene face such as his own coming had provoked. It was natural to ask
after a cousin who was once a playfellow, and was now on the threshold
of an ignominious death.
''Deed, and he's bad, acushla!' he returned bluntly; then, with an
affectionate hand-squeeze, followed beckoning Shane to pay his
respects to my lady.
With heartfelt thankfulness the girl, who went with them, listened to
Shane's budget of gossip, as he tumbled it out, a confused medley, for
his mother's benefit. This French expedition was but the wild freak of
an adventurer unwisely brave. He and all his men--Frenchmen all--were
gone in chains to Dublin, a mirth-provoking spectacle for the good
townspeople, who were getting weary of badgered Croppies. The boys at
Letterkenny were coming to his little _fete_--he was to send the yacht
and a whole fleet of boats for them. It would be rare fun!
By-the-bye, Sir Borlase Warren and some English ships of war were
cruising somewhere close by--their mission to prevent another French
band from landing, if another leader should be found as foolhardy as
this Humbert. That was not likely. Sir Borlase would have his cruise
for nothing. The laws of hospitality demanded that he should be
entertained. Shane had left a message at the tower on Fanad Head to
the effect that Lord Glandore would be glad to be civil to Sir
Borlase. Maybe he and his officers would grace the prospective _fete_.
With this Shane descended to the cellar, to look out some bottles of
prime claret for the delectation of Cassidy. Being but a half-mounted,
my lord had consistently treated that personage at Strogue with
indulgent patronage mingled with hauteur; but now he was so tired of
getting drunk alone, or with the rough skipper of his yacht, that he
condescended to kill a fatted calf for the behoof of the new arrival.
So the third French expedition had gone off like a damp squib! Doreen
was in nowise sorry for the prisoners. Faithless as the French had
been, great in promises which were never fulfilled, it served them
right to be punished for their folly. But she was deeply thankful that
Tone was not among them. It rather surprised her, till she reflected
that her young hero was wise beyond his years, and far-sighted too. He
saw, no doubt, as she did, that the moment was come and gone; that
there was nothing for it but endurance now. He was galloping in his
general's uniform on the banks of the Rhine, or perchance was one of
Buonaparte's staff in Egypt or elsewhere. He had slaved with the
power of a young Samson for motherland; but treachery had done her
work--Samson was shorn. He could do no more. Like her, he could only
wait. It was a mercy that his life was spared.
Cassidy's presence was certainly a relief to all, by introducing a new
element of interest into a household devoured by ennui. He was so gay
and willing. It was a pleasure to hear his rich voice carolling one of
the dreamy songs of Ireland, as he caught fish for breakfast over the
garden parapet. Even my lady had a wintry smile for him. Shane dragged
him out with glee to look at the Martello towers, to shoot a seal, to
have a blaze at the puffins about Malin Head. The cheery, pleasant
creature! Sir Borlase and his fleet sailed by. The admiral's boat,
manned by its natty crew in dazzling white garments, shot to the
staircase hewn from the living rock, to scrape acquaintance with the
hermits of Glas-aitch-e. He thought he had never seen so singular a
household. The scared aristocratic-looking lady, with snowy locks and
deep furrows of sorrow ploughed on her faded cheeks--each line in the
fretwork of whose brow told of carking care, each rustle of whose
silken robe spoke of overweening pride; the beautiful tall gipsy, with
pride as great as hers, which was tempered by a serene sadness that
became her beauty well. And dwelling with this pair of cold, haughty
women, two men of such a different stamp! The young lord, a reckless
devil evidently, and fierce, despite his somewhat effeminate figure
and tiny hands; given, too, to the modish vice, as was evidenced by
the coarsening of his fine features. And then, culminating surprise,
the great jolly giant--type of a rollicking Pat--vulgar and humorous;
who somehow was of much commoner clay than his three companions, who
yet treated him with indulgent friendliness. What a strange life this
quartet must be leading? the admiral mused, as he went upon his way.
They would repay careful study. He had no particular orders as to his
cruise, except that he was to watch the northern coast. He would
inspect the inlets of Lough Foyle, and then come back again. Why were
they leading this odd hermit life? Decidedly it would be worth while
to examine them more closely. The maiden and the giant went about
together a good deal, he remarked, in two frail coracles, side by
side--paddling among banks of heavy seaweed, landing on the strand to
visit cottagers, skirting the beetling cliff in search of rare ferns
and lichens. Could they be about to make a match of it? Some of the
most happy couples are composed of the most conflicting elements. Yet
it did seem a pity for a refined girl like this to unite herself to a
common farmer-fellow!
My lady, too, remarked the apparent flirtation, and frowned. 'What's
bred in the bone will come out,' she muttered, as, sitting on the
marble seat among the straggling flowers, she basked in the sun. 'It's
the blood of her mother. She has a predilection for common people.
That is why she went on so shamefully at Strogue, consorting with the
sons of old Doctor Emmett, who, in his way, was a good man, in
preference to cousin Shane!' Then, remembering the behaviour of her
second son, she contemplated her ghost again. 'That he should come to
a shameful end,' she groaned, wringing her hands together. 'Is this a
direct judgment on me? Did my husband foresee this when he spoke upon
his death-bed? Had I acted as I ought, would Terence have been saved?'
Doreen was so accustomed to be led by her wayward will that it did not
strike her that she was doing anything peculiar in going thus about
with Cassidy. She occupied her boat, he his; sure, nothing could be
more proper. She had always looked upon him as on a Newfoundland dog,
whose rough gambols are amusing, and courted his society now to hear
details of her Dublin friends without interruption from her aunt. She
learned much that was true and much that was false. With grief she
listened to the weary tale of treachery, marvelling with Cassidy as to
who the traitor was. She burned with indignation at the conduct of the
executive, observing that there is an unwritten law in accordance with
which the ignorant are to be protected from themselves; not coaxed to
crime and then murdered for it. For some reason of his own, the giant
avoided the mention of Terence; and Doreen respected his delicacy, for
she thought that perchance he had ill things to tell of him, and she
shrank from hearing them; clinging rather to her present state of
doubt.
One day as they drifted on the glassy sea--the one pensive, with
her chin upon her hands, the other distracted by his increasing
passion--Cassidy remarked that her coracle was leaking, that a tiny
rift had been cut in the side by a jagged stone, and that the water
was lapping in unawares. He swore there was peril--lost his head in an
absurd manner--while she smiled. Why did she not choose to come out
with him in a bigger boat? These frail cockle-shells were ridiculous!
What greater delight could there be for him than to row so precious a
burthen?
'I prefer my liberty,' was her demure reply, as she measured her
distance to the islet, and then the incoming water. 'If I put my
strength into it I shall get safely home, so don't excite yourself.'
With rare skill she plied the light oars, baring her shapely arms
and stretching them to their full length, and arrived at the
staircase-foot out of breath, but safe, ere the coracle had time to
fill.
'There!' she said in smiling triumph, as she stood on the slippery
step, her ripe lips half opened, her bosom heaving. 'Am I not quite
fit for the _role_ of an old maid? Can I not look after myself without
a protector?'
Cassidy, with emotion, was as breathless as she. 'Like the poor Irish
boys,' he blurted out, 'you should be protected against yourself. When
you are my wife you shan't play such pranks!'
Doreen, who was moving up the steps, turned swiftly and looked down at
him. There was pained wonder in her tawny eyes--scornful anger in the
knitted arches of her brow.
'Mr. Cassidy!' she said, panting. 'Oh, I'm so sorry! Is this my fault?
I thought it was quite understood that your former nonsense was mere
passing fancy. Never, never speak like that again, or I must tell my
aunt, who will turn you out of doors. Indeed, after this, I'm very,
very sorry, but the sooner you go away the better!'
Her face was crimson. Gathering up her skirts, and thereby displaying
a silver buckled brogue and ribbed woollen stocking, she tripped
lightly up the flight and was gone, leaving her forlorn admirer to see
to the boats alone.
Was it for good or ill that she went away so hurriedly? Would it have
been better for her to have beheld the true man without his mask? She
could scarcely be more pained and astonished than she was already. She
was not intentionally a coquette. The manner of her bringing up and
the atmosphere of melancholy by which she was enwrapped, caused her to
think it possible to be on platonic terms with men upon a purely
brotherly basis. Neither Tone nor the Emmetts had dreamed of making
love to her. She did not consider her own beauty and the inflammable
nature of the Hibernian heart--that is, when it is not fully engrossed
already by national grievances. Perhaps she would look on Cassidy as
he really was ere long--most probably indeed--for as he bent down to
tie the boats, the water reflected a villainous expression of
countenance, whilst he swore under his breath to be revenged for
having been tricked and fooled by a born jilt.